


A Willing Replacement

by pinksnowboots



Series: SnK Kink Meme Fills [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A touch of hero worship, Angst, Bisexual Jean, F/M, Jean is actually pretty perceptive, M/M, Mikasa has a lot of boundaries, Onesided Mikasa/Eren, Past Jean/Marco, Sexual Inexperience, Unrequited Love, Unspecified time in the future, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:23:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinksnowboots/pseuds/pinksnowboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean has long since come to terms with the fact that Mikasa is unattainable for him (everyone knows she's in love with Eren) when she walks into his room and asks him to kiss her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In-progress fill for this prompt from the SnK kink meme: 
> 
> Mikasa realizes things with Eren may never move past their current stage (or maybe there's someone else he's with), but there /is/ someone willing to give her all the affection she's longing for, even if it isn't the person she really wants. Anything is better than nothing, right? Meanwhile Jean is torn between having the girl of his dreams and knowing that she's only with him because she can't be with Eren.
> 
>  
> 
> Undetermined length as of yet because I can't seem to be concise, likely will not have a happy ending, per se.

It had been a long time since they had met, when Jean first developed a crush on Mikasa Ackerman, when he first made that ill-fated comment about her beautiful hair (which she subsequently cut off, marking the first time his opinion had been snubbed without a second thought in favor of Eren's). 

Before Trost, when they learned that graduating from military training meant practically nothing in terms of actual survival against an enemy that cannot be simulated or beaten. Before Marco's death put a face to the destruction that the titans caused, and also made Jean understand that grief could easily make a person as desperate as Hannah, as furious as Eren, as ruthless as Commander Erwin (as selfishly selfless [self-destructive] as he himself became). Before they all pledged their hearts to the only force that was brave enough to leave the walls, back when they thought that such an empty pledge gave any sort of protection. Before their first mission, when they realized that hearts and lungs and bowels were all the same sort of titan food, no matter who they were pledged to. Before many of their companions came back in pieces, if they came back at all, and they learned that even the commander was not strong enough to come back whole every time. Before they realized that empty platitudes about how things could not possibly get worse all the time were simply designed to placate soldiers into forging on until their inevitable deaths, as their lives were never long enough that they had to live with the realization that sometimes nothing ever gets better.

And, at the time that she approached him, now that they were both seasoned members of the Survey Corps (meaning that they were still alive, no matter that it may be only barely so), it was long after Jean had given up on his feelings for Mikasa as hopeless, useless, and most of all, a liability. It didn't matter that she was the most amazing fighter that he'd ever seen or that her lethal grace was constantly mesmerizing him. It couldn't matter that her frantic strikes when she was at her most desperate (when she thought she'd lost Eren-of course it was about Eren-it always was) was the personification of how he wished he could have channeled his fury and grief and all-consuming loss over Marco's death back at Trost. It couldn't matter, because once they were outside the walls a fleeting (and certainly unnecessary, as she was the best fighter they had after Levi) concern or distracted look could cost him his life. And the rub of it was that even if he died looking at her, longing for her, even protecting her, he was sure that she'd carry on without any cracks in her facade as long as Eren, damn him, was still alive. 

And so he'd stifled those feelings, parceled them up after Trost when he had first realized what a danger feelings were and set them aside in a tiny bundle labelled "Faith in Humanity." Because no matter how many times she put him off for Eren, for Jean, she-not Eren, not Levi, not Erwin-she was the only thing that gave him hope that perhaps they would not all perish. And hope was almost as dangerous as concern, or even love, so he resigned himself to the same daily torment and self-imposed emotional numbness that his fellow survivors had also adopted as a coping mechanism. And although it was not pleasant, he was at least alive and had long since stopped feeling entitled to any sort of happiness.

So it was a shock when she approached him, deadpan as usual but still striking, and asked if he still thought she was beautiful. 

He choked on air for several moments, before managing to sputter out an incredulous "Why?"

"Because I want to know." She replied, seemingly unaffected by his obvious confusion, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Jean unconsciously decided that it was best not to think about it too much lest he bring up feelings he'd long since suppressed; still, he answered automatically and honestly, "Of course I do," before realizing what he'd said and flushing deep red. Still, he stood defiantly, refusing to back down when she still looked so stoic. 

Even though he'd stopped himself from staring recently, he had spent enough time in their training days cataloging her facial expressions that he noticed the miniscule change from impassive to incredulous, like the idea of physical beauty had never even occurred to her. But she covered it up quickly and flawlessly; in fact, nobody else would likely notice. Armin, perhaps, because he was perceptive and knew her well, but Eren would surely miss such a subtle cue, and the fact that she still was so utterly devoted galled him despite his careful suppression of his jealousy. And she continued, speaking as casually and impersonally as if she were inquiring about the functionality of his weapons (not that she would actually ask that to anyone but Eren).

"In that case, would you be willing to kiss me?"

This time, Jean really did choke, spending several minutes hunched over trying to catch his breath as she stood watching, completely unembarrassed. He half-debated asking why, but something about the absurdity of the situation had lowered his defenses, and his feelings (yes, some lustful, but mostly long-dormant pangs of longing) were straining at their bars, and he found himself nodding silently.

She nodded brusquely in reply, then walked away, and Jean was left wondering what had just happened and frantically trying (and failing) to re-compartmentalize his feelings.

...

He had found it strange at the time that she had walked away without specifying anything about her out of character question, but in the end he was not surprised when she drifted silently into his room (temporarily empty because he had shared it with comrades who were now dead, and the Survey Corps was lacking in new recruits after the mission where the commander lost his arm) and settled herself next to him on his bunk, looking at him expectantly.

For a moment, he was dumbstruck and at a complete loss as to what to do until the thought that she may be just as much at a loss as he was struck him, just for an instant. Jean had viewed Mikasa as an indomitable soldier for so long that he had forgotten that there were things that she may not know how to do. And sure enough, when he met her gaze, it was a infinitesimal bit less confident than normal, more defiant than a social interaction would usually warrant.

He tried to will himself to say something to normalize the situation, but all that came out was "Why me?"

Her answer was cutting, not because of her tone or presentation, but in fact because of the lack of it; she replied in as impassive a tone as she would when giving a mission report, which was highly incongruous to the subject at hand. "I knew you'd be willing."

Her steady eye contact and lack of any visible reaction was painful. To be presented with an invitation from her, who he'd...cared for? Watched? Loved? for so many years, but with the understanding that she hadn't chosen him because he was special, just because he was willing-that was excruciating. (Even more so because he knew that he wouldn't refuse the offer regardless).

He tried to conceal his flinch at her words, "What would you like me to do?"

Finally her trepidation became obvious. "I don't know. But for now, kiss me."

It finally dawned on Jean that this was one arena in which she was not an expert; when most of the other recruits had been sneaking out to the showers or the bushes or each others' dorms to mess around, himself included, Mikasa and Eren always seemed removed: Eren by his utter fixation on the issue of titans and Mikasa by her utter devotion to Eren. Jean had learned to kiss and more from Connie and Sasha, casually and unemotionally, and then later from Marco, which was not so casual. He had learned about the human body through awkward teenage fumblings turning into skillful but efficient routines of pleasure. But Mikasa had never had that; the only bodies she knew were her own and its fantastic capacity for battle (and she likely hadn't even explored that to its fullest potential), and Eren's perpetually battered, splintered, and generally confused frame, whether it be human or titan. 

For once Jean was the expert and Mikasa was the amateur, and rather than make him revel in his dominance of this one thing, the situation reversal actually made him rather uncomfortable.

But, discomfort or no, Mikasa was looking at him expectantly, eyes glowing in the dark as her hair and frame faded into the soft black shadows of the room that should hold many than two people. So he leaned over and kissed her-not lingering, but long enough to note the experience in case it never repeated-just once, and then pulled back, looking anywhere but at her. Although he had told himself in the past that he'd never forget what kissing her would be like if it ever happened, already the generic feeling of lips was fading from his short-term memory. 

For her part, Mikasa looked confused, almost petulant. He barely had the time to make out the basic features of her fact before she decided to take the offensive and kiss him. 

It was clear that she did not have any idea what to do. Once she had her lips on his, she just stood there maintaining constant pressure as if she hadn't thought out her next move. It was not impressive, as kisses go, but her lips were soft and somehow his hand moved to her hair even thought he'd told himself that he'd keep his hands out of the way and her hair felt better than he'd ever imagined.

And then she tried to tilt her head, and although it didn't quite work to align their lips properly, it was a tantalizing look at what he could do with his hand still wrapped in her hair, and instinctively he gently encouraged her to tilt her head the other way so their lips could fit together better. As they adjusted positions he unthinkingly nipped at her bottom lip before realizing that literally everything was new to her and so that might be a bit strange, especially since she likely associated biting with Eren and his titan form (although to be fair, she associated everything with Eren). But apparently it worked, as he heard a tiny gasp, just for a fraction of a second before it was suppressed, but it was there, and the sound was so encouraging and so exhilarating (because he, even if it was as nothing more than a willing body) was the only one who'd heard her make that breathy, clipped kind of sound and even distracted as he was, he recognized that as a privilege that he would guard dearly.

Motivated by that damn gasp and his long-denied hormones, he pulled back, only to kiss her quickly on the lips one, two, three times before moving outwards and down, delivering pecks to her nose, cheecks, foreheard, anything he could reach, and she leaned into the hand that was still in her hair. Jean suppressed an instinct to try to make eye contact because he was afraid that he'd see exactly what he usually sees: general platonic disdain for most people and activities that did not involve fighting or some other practical activity; instead he gauged her reaction as best he could through the vibrations in her skin, which in of itself was a novel enough experience to be absolutely overwhelming. 

But as he was kissing down her left cheek, he ran into an obstacle in the form of her ever-present scarf. Although his first instinct would be to remove it, this was Mikasa, who didn't know what was happening even though she asked for it, and managed to control any muscle movements that would indicate that he was fiddling with it, because after thinking for a few moments, he realized that this, like everything, was about Eren. 

But despite his restraint, as soon as his lips touched the junction between her head and neck, only centimeters from where the red fabric lay in folds, she froze and pulled away before standing up and walking out abruptly, though not angrily, leaving Jean to sit and wait in his confusion and unfocussed desire.


	2. Chapter 2

After that, Jean had thought that he'd lost his chance entirely, but a few nights later, she returned to his room, silent and stoic. The scarf was still there, but it quickly dropped out of his field of vision as she strode in and kissed him. 

The novelty of kissing Mikasa had still not worn off, and though the kissing itself was likely more stimulating for her physically, the sheer thought that he was kissing *Mikasa*, something that he'd dreamed of since training, was exhilarating enough to more than make up for the fact that her technique was inexperienced (but determined, like in everything she did). They kissed slowly for a while, Jean coaxing her tongue into more pleasing movements with his as he toyed with her hair. She was a quick study and soon took the lead, something should have been unsurprising considering that it was Mikasa. Jean kept the presence of mind to keep his hands away from her neck and especially the scarf, but in his determination to avoid her neck, he somehow let his hands wander to her breasts. He realized his mistake when he felt her tense and immediately yanked his hands back.

"Shit. I'm sorry. We can stop if you want. I mean, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable-"

She cut him off with a glare that was equal parts pity, annoyance, and amusement. Jean decided that he found it extremely sexy and immediately after determined to not ponder on the implications of that thought too far. 

Her face soften from a glare to a look of mild impatience as she kissed him again. Jean was breathing a sigh of relief (metaphorical, as his mouth was a bit occupied at that moment) when he felt her take his hands and guide them back to her breasts. He froze again, because he knew what to do in these situations, but this was Mikasa and that fact threw everything he thought he knew out of whack.

He looked down at their still-touching hands resting on her small breasts, noting that she had tucked the scarf up so that it wound entirely around her neck, leaving no stay ends hanging down onto her chest.

"Mikasa. Do you want me to...?"

She spoke for the first time that night, looking him directly in the eyes with a candor that unnerved him and simply saying "Yes." Impassive, without any undercurrent of longing, arousal, desire. Regardless, the direct gaze had left him feeling short of breath and he noted briefly how unfair it was that she had such an effect on him while he seemed to do nothing to her, discarding the notion as her mouth covered his and her hand guided his under her shirt.

She was not wearing underclothes, but her breasts were small enough that she didn't really need them. Jean could cover one easily with the palm of his hand and he marveled at the pertness of her breasts and the taut muscles in her stomach with his fingers, tracing lines up and over and around, mesmerized. He seemed content to do this until she hummed impatiently and he jolted back from his reverie as he brushed over one of her nipples and noticed it was hard. Drawing back, he met her eyes and noticed that she was flushed and her breathing was rough. He even caught a shade of embarrassment behind her composed mask, and felt a rush of arousal flood his body at the fact that he had managed to crack her facade, even a little bit.

He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner rather than a hungry one and asked if she would like to lie down. They had simply been sitting on the edge of his bed and it was growing awkward, but he didn't want to scare her off again.

She seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded briefly and removed her shoes, placing them neatly just underneath the edge of his bed before gingerly lowering herself onto the thin mattress, looking at him expectantly and somewhat shyly. 

Jean felt unnerved, even moreso that before. Mikasa laying in his bed looked wrong somehow, and he didn't know how to react. Instinctively he was aroused and intellectually he knew that he'd wanted this for a long time, but he couldn't help but feel a little lost, as if her body was the land beyond the walls, a prize often talked of but never with real hope of exploring it freely. He blurted out "Do you want me to touch you?" without thinking, cursing himself mentally as it slipped out.

But funnily enough, she smiled. A real smile, which some hint of affection in it. And she said, "Please" and Jean was sure that he was either going to wake up from a dream any moment or die of a heart attack. When neither event happened, he moved forward to hover over her, leaning down so their only point of contact was their foreheads. He only held this position for a few moments, uncomfortable at the intimacy of the situation before chickening out, closing his eyes and resorting to kissing her again as he rubbed his thumbs along her hipbones, feeling the sharp edges and coiled muscle and marveling at the fact that what was likely humanity's greatest weapon (Levi be damned) was spread out under his hands.

Jean lost track of him musings as he gently pushed her shirt up and returned his attention to her breasts and stomach, alternatively stroking her sensitive skin and catching a hard nipple between his fingers and gently caressing it, which made her gasp (he was gratified to know that his muddled efforts were satisfactory; it was a long time since Sasha had instructed him on what women liked and he hadn't really practiced since). He pulled away, breaking the kiss and dipped his head lower, past the dreaded scarf. He briefly considered what a shame it was that he couldn't kiss her neck, but settled for laving kisses elsewhere: her hipbones, her navel, a line up between her breasts and spilling onto them, and although she kept quiet but for a few sighs, her body shuddered underneath his ministrations. When he took one of her nipples into his mouth and lavished attention upon it with his tongue, her whole body arched up and curved into his. 

Jean was mildly concerned with the fact that she had to have felt his erection, but she didn't give any indication and, even more importantly, didn't leave, instead twisting her body up to make more contact with his, bringing her hands down to rest on his shoulders where she grabbed and squeezed when he gently bit down. 

He sensed that she was not willing to go much further through the reactions of her body: the minute tensing when he drifted to far, the way she pressed herself against every part of his body except his crotch, so he confined himself to the area above her waistband and below her scarf, simply enjoying taking in her taste and smell and cataloging the ways she moved in response to his actions in case this never happened again, occasionally slipping up to kiss her again. When he kissed her, he always closed his eyes. For all his bravery, Jean considered himself an eternal coward and he didn't want to see her eyes-they would either be too much and overwhelm him, or too little, which would break him.

Eventually she pulled back from a kiss and without preamble said "Thank you" before nimbly pulling herself out from under Jean and sitting up. She smoothed down her shirt, retrieved her shoes, and headed to the door.

"Goodnight Mikasa." He called after her, for one moment brave enough to use her name, to remind her that she was actually doing this with him. To keep it personal. And he hoped, beyond a reasonable level that she would use his name too.

But she simply gave him a brief glance back and said "Goodnight" quietly before slipping away, and Jean fell to his bed, his hand fell to his crotch, and his thoughts returned to Mikasa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the pacing seems weird-I write late at night and stop writing whenever I start to doze off, at which time I find a stopping point.


	3. Chapter 3

As the days went on and nothing much of consequence happened in regards to titans, it became a habit. Mikasa would come in silently, take off her shoes and join him on his bed. They never spoke much beyond Jean confirming that yes, this was ok, and yes, she would like him to do this, to touch here. She reminded him of a skittish animal and he moved accordingly, trying to remain calm and slow and gentle so as not to spook her (he had always been naturally good at dealing with horses). And unlike Sasha, unlike Marco, she never seemed to want anything else, never demanded urgency or heat where he gave patience and tenderness, and he told himself that it worked. 

 

Each time they went a bit further, following her lead. The next time she had removed her shirt and folded it on the floor next to her shoes and allowed him full access to her stomach and breasts, and he happily obliged, worshipping her body and every ounce of determination and minute of training and moment of desperation that had sculpted it into such strength. 

Unbidden, he wondered if Eren knew that in other times she might be revered as a goddess by many men. He wondered if Eren would revere her but then she made one of those soft, shy, noises that seemed so at odds with the hardness of her body and demeanor and he decided that even if it was not an acceptable substitute, he could revere her in Eren's stead (and it's not like it was difficult to do so, he'd not been able to avoid it since their first meeting).

 

The time after she removed everything but her underclothes and her scarf and with a nod permitted him, even invited him, to stroke her most private areas through the thin cloth. 

As he touched her, he tried to determine whether Eren realized that she rarely strayed from his side, as if he had some sort of irresistible force which kept her near, and wondered whether her visits to his room were the only time she left Eren's orbit.

 

On another night she removed her underclothes altogether and allowed his fingers to roam as they pleased as his mouth occupied hers. He could tell that she was confused by the way her hands scrabbled along his still-clothed sides, unsure of where to rest, and the way she tensed whenever his fingers wandered nearer to her vagina. So he showed her that the clitoris was not only less intrusive, but also a readier source for pleasure, silently thanking Sasha for that knowledge, and she relaxed into his touch as he tried to convince himself that she really was out of Eren's orbit, at least for now. 

The unguarded look of surprise on her face as she orgasmed a few encounters later, likely for the first time in her life, would have been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen were it not for the for the scarf, which hung red and taunting in the corners of his vision. 

She didn't call Eren's name when she came, but she didn't call his either. 

 

Although it was clear that she was aware of his arousal during their encounters, her hands never ventured below his waist or above his neck, as though his cock was too impersonal and his face too intimate.

 

Despite the fact that she came to his room every few days, they rarely spoke outside of it. Every time they passed, he made sure to greet her, and every time she replied with the fewest words possible. She never used his name. 

Once, he had tried to sit with her at lunch, which necessitated sitting with Armin, who was pleasant enough, and Eren, who was not. Since she was naturally occupying the seat next to Eren, he had settled for sliding in next to Armin and saying hello, ostensibly to the whole table, but it was difficult to do so when he was trying especially to direct his words to Mikasa while also trying to avoid speaking to Eren, who had asked him what the fuck he was doing there and did he forget that nobody liked him here? Before Eren began to speak, Mikasa had inclined her head slightly in what he knew was a greeting by now, but as he spoke she moved her focus to her food and refused to meet his eyes, as if embarrassed. He couldn't tell if she was embarrassed of him or of Eren, although if he was honest, he had a pretty good idea. 

Although he knew he shouldn't have expected any sort of welcome, her silence hurt, and he was incredibly grateful when Armin scolded Eren and told Jean that he was welcome and engaged him in conversation for the whole of lunch in order to protect him from Eren's fuming silence and Mikasa's inscrutable refusal to look at or speak to either of them. Although Armin, bless him, had told Jean that he was welcome any time, he had not tried to invade their space again. 

Mikasa did not come to his room that night or the nights following.

 

The day that Erwin announced the possibility of another expedition outside the walls, she took off his shirt and asked him to use his mouth. Although he thought knew her taste well by now, this was new and intoxicating.

As he brought her to orgasm, he cursed Eren for being too selfish to ever give her the pleasure she so obviously wanted and deserved.

As he brought himself to orgasm after she left, he adamantly did not entertain the thought that maybe she was a bit selfish too.

 

Then the night came when the commander announced that Eren was going on the next expedition and she was not. 

She did not say a word to Jean, but she came to him and wrapped his hand around hers and placed it on his cock and followed his movements until she had an idea of what to do, and even though she was obviously unsure of herself he came apart embarrassingly quickly and embarrassingly loudly under her ministrations. 

She had looked surprised when he came, but not quite disgusted, and as he wiped off her hand with his shirt, he glanced at the ever present scarf and found himself on the brink of apologizing for making noises, because surely she didn't want to hear his voice. He stopped himself just in time and occupied himself with returning the favor instead, because it kept his eyes away from the scarf and he still felt it difficult to look at her face if she was looking back at him intently, like she was when he had almost started to speak.

Jean was glad that he had kept quiet, because really, what could he say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with even less dialogue than ever!
> 
> Also, I hope no one is put off by the fact that I decided to use vagina and clitoris instead of some kind of euphemism. I've never been able to find one that feels right to me, so I decided to stick with the actual words, despite the fact that vagina is not a super sexy word. Like I said, this is the smuttiest thing I've ever written, so I'm a bit insecure about my choice in genitalia-related vocabulary.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has little bits of canon divergence in it for the bits that are in the manga after the end of the anime. For example, Levi's new squad doesn't include any character of note but Eren for the purpose of this story. As the focus is on the characters and not the plot, I hope this doesn't bother you too much.

The upcoming mission had everyone on edge in the days before Levi's squad left the walls. It was intended to last for only one week, and the Commander said that with enough certainty that everyone actually started to believe him. It was only a test mission, to get Eren used to working with his new squad and to see just how bad the titan situation in the areas just outside the walls were. A preliminary scouting mission of only a few squads, led by Levi. 

The day they left was somber and tense, as those who were leaving completed their rituals with those they were leaving behind, because no one knew if they would be returning whole, or if at all. Although Jean had seen the fragile exchanges of trinkets and goodbyes before, he never got used to it. It reminded him of their dire situation, one he could have avoided easily by joining the Military Police.

Sometimes he would think of Marco, and whether his friend (and lover, his mind supplied. As if he could forget) would be proud of him. Whether, if Marco were still alive, they would be one of the pairs with their heads bent together, frantically whispering incantations of  _You'll be fine, I'll be back before you know it, Do you really think I'd leave you for good?_

Lies, all of them.

He even had caught a glimpse of the Commander and his Captain, and although they were standing upright and at a normal distance and their faces were stone, he saw that the Commander had laid his one remaining hand on Levi's shoulder and just as Jean glanced over, he saw Erwin squeeze, saw all the tension and communication that wasn't evident elsewhere in their posture or expressions.

He supposed he should feel embarassed, like he was intruding, but instead he just felt overwhelmed as an image of Marco, half ripped away, clasping Jean's shoulder with his undevoured hand, came unbidden into his head.

As he hurried back to his room to sequester himself until the squads had left for their mission, he wondered what Marco would think of his nebulous arrangement with Mikasa. 

 

That night, he did not expect Mikasa to come to his room, but she was there when he returned from dinner, sitting on his bed and looking feral. 

Although he knew it was a bad idea, he could not help but ask, "Are you ok?"

No answer.

"Mikasa." He tried again, "Are you ok?" 

At the sound of her name, she jerked her head up to meet his eyes, and he saw that her eyes were bloodshot and wild. Whatever her farewell with Eren had been, whatever it was that he had hidden from because he could not bear to watch, it had not been enough.

She stared at him for a few moments too long, and he felt pinned to the doorway when she spoke, raspy and desperate, "Take off your clothes."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," he spoke softly, in what he hoped was a soothing voice, stepping into the door and approaching slowly and deliberately as he would a spooked horse.

She looked at him blankly, and for a moment he wondered if she could even he him at all, if she even knew where she was or what she was doing. He was about to leave and go get Armin when he heard her utter a choked, "Please."

Although he knew it wasn't right, and that he wasn't what she wanted, who she wanted, and that this wasn't what he wanted, how he wanted her, he pulled off his shirt and took her in his arms and kissed her as if by doing so he could hold her together for just one moment, and she clung to him and kissed back like she couldn't decide whether she wanted to consume him or to incorporate herself into his body and lose herself entirely.

They kissed slowly but desperately for a while, and she moved her hands around his body, digging in with her nails at every new point as if searching for some sort of button hidden somewhere beneath his skin, until his torso and back were dotted with red crescents. Whenever he tried to reach for her, to touch her in response, she twisted and shied away until he settled for simply holding her loosely in his arms. And though he could feel her trembling, he let her unlack his pants and take out his half-hard cock and hold it in her hands, as if she was weighing or contemplating it. 

And then, before he could guide her or protest, she slid down to the floor beneath his knees and took it into her mouth, and though it was clear she was confused, she was determined and left no room for protest or refusal (and he felt like he should refuse, although he did not know why he should or whether he wanted to).

It took longer than it should have for Jean to come, considering the fact that this was Mikasa between his legs with his cock in her mouth, and considering the fact that he'd fantasized about this since training, and considering the fact that she wasn't half bad with the way she flicked her tongue and hollowed her cheeks. But a deep sense of unease had coiled itself into the pit of his stomach where the lust was supposed to be building, and it would not completely dissapate no matter how Mikasa bobbed and sucked. 

He could sense her frustration as he remained relatively unresponsive, unnaturally still although now fully hard, but he could not seem to bring himself to touch her, despite the fact that at this angle the scarf was not even visible. Sardonically, he reflected that the damn thing had become a third presence in his bedroom in of itself, whether he could see it or not. 

Eventually her ministrations did cause a physical response, and Jean noted that his arousal was building, although he felt it as if he was feel everything in a muted spectrum, as if Mikasa was separated from him by a thick and heavy cloth. It was so different from the feverish need he usually felt with her, and even different than the straightforward arousal that he felt when he touched himself, enough to be unsettling.

So strange was the experience that he forgot to warn her when his orgasm was approaching, as it was as much a suprise to him as it was to her. As he came, he felt wetness on his pelvis and registered numbly that she was crying, even as he looked down and saw her swallow everything.

After she swallowed, she did not move, even to take his softening cock out of her mouth. With the frenetic energy from earlier gone, she looked deflated and half-real. Jean felt as though he had been slapped, to have gotten what he had always wanted and to have it be so distorted and strange that he did not even want it anymore, either presently or in the future. Although he wanted nothing more than to be alone and to never have seen her like this, he pulled her gently up and on the bed and lay down beside her, holding her as she cried into his chest.

He felt the most keenly of any emotion that night the sharp-enough-to-be-painful-affection that rushed into him when he looked at her like this, sobbing and only half-aware that it was him who held her.

Before, Mikasa had never stayed once they had finished, let alone throughout the night. But that night, she slept there, in her clothes and his bed, once she ran out of tears, and slumbered there well into the next morning. 

Looking at her asleep, Jean wondered whether he was this broken and he as the morning light filtered into the tiny window of his room, he imagined Marco's voice saying  _Yes, Jean. Yes, and no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, this went way differently than I planned it to, actually. A bit more on the JeanMarco side than I intended, to be precise, and significantly different in terms of the sex(?) scene. I hope it's not too off-putting, and I'll try to update again while I have the next bit in mind, which I do at the moment, at least vaguely.
> 
> God, it's ironic that I really don't like reading angst, but it seems to be all I can write.

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning for all of this fic: Not only am I a bit rusty at fic-writing in general, I am fairly inexperienced at writing kissing/sexual acts/sex, so all of this is rather experimental for me, and will likely not be flat-out pornographic.


End file.
